Lincoln & Wicker

Lincoln & Wicker Is Redefining the Suburban Dining Playbook in Northwest Indiana 813 W Lincoln Hwy, Schererville, IN 46375 In a region dominated by steakhouses, safe menus, and “good enough” comfort food, Lincoln & Wicker arrives like a quiet insurgency. Nestled in the suburban grid of Schererville — where diners often settle for predictability rather than discovery — this modern American tavern dares to offer something rare: intent. From the moment you step inside, it’s clear this isn’t another polished-but-forgettable suburban buildout. The lighting is subtle, the textures rich, the atmosphere curated with a sophistication that feels almost conspiratorial. It’s the kind of space where you lower your voice without knowing why. A bar for confidences, not compromises. But behind the swank is substance — the kind you don’t often find outside major food cities. Cocktails that Respect Craft Many restaurants say they have a cocktail program. Lincoln & Wicker has one that actually means something. Take the Bacon Bourbon Manhattan. Fat-washing — a technique more likely to appear in Brooklyn or the West Loop than Schererville — gives the bourbon a velvety, almost seductive character. The smoky aroma hits first, followed by a smoothness that feels engineered, precise, almost obsessive. It’s a drink that whispers: This bar knows what it’s doing. The Paper Plane, balanced on the knife’s edge of sweet, sour, and bitter, shows equal discipline. It arrives adorned with a small paper airplane — a playful touch that’s earned rather than gimmicky. Every sip hits cleanly, like a well-rehearsed line delivered with heart rather than memory. Here, cocktail technique isn’t an afterthought. It’s the thesis. A Menu That Punches Above Its Weight The culinary ambition becomes clear as the plates start to land. Everyday I’m Truffling — A Smash Burger for the Books Served on a charcoal bun that looks like it was forged rather than baked, Everyday I’m Truffling is easily one of the best smash burgers in Northwest Indiana. Crisp, lacy edges. A juicy core. Seasoning that respects the meat without overshadowing it. And then there’s the truffle aioli — a sauce that tastes like the Big Mac “secret sauce” evolved, traveled, read philosophy, and returned enlightened. It elevates the burger without turning it into a parody of itself. This dish alone is enough to explain why chefs in the region should start sweating. Lebanese Muhammara — A Bold, Confident Standout The Muhammara is a triumph of balance and authenticity: roasted red pepper blended with goat cheese, Calabrian pepper heat, and charred lemon salt. It’s the rare appetizer that carries cultural lineage without feeling imported for effect. The flavors are bright, layered, and unapologetic. The only drawback? A stingy portion of naan. When a dish is this compelling, rationing becomes a sin. Beets Salad — An Honest Misstep Not everything hits the mark. The Beets salad, a visually appealing composition of citrus goat cheese crème, roasted hazelnuts, mint, mandarins, and apples, suffers from execution issues. The dressing is timid, the flavors muted. And the inclusion of whole hazelnuts — with a fork as the only utensil — creates more frustration than texture. Even strong kitchens have weak moments; this dish is one of them. A Dessert that Knows Its Role The meal ends with a brownie dessert — warm, classic, anchored by ice cream. It’s not reinvented and doesn’t pretend to be. In a landscape of overwrought desserts, there’s honesty in restraint. Sometimes, comfort is king. Service: Heart, but Not Yet Structure Hospitality is the most fragile part of any restaurant, and on this visit, that fragility was visible. Our server mentioned immediately it was her first night — an act of transparency that deserves credit. But the dining room offered little support: no shadowing, no experienced hand at her side, no safety net to ease her into the rhythm of service. This isn’t a reflection of her effort or attitude — she was earnest and trying. Rather, it’s a signal that the restaurant’s operational structure hasn’t fully caught up to its culinary ambition. For a place aiming this high, training matters. Support matters. Excellence in food and beverage should be matched by equal excellence in service development. A Message to the Region’s Chefs At its core, Lincoln & Wicker is more than a restaurant; it’s a challenge. It is a shot across the bow of every “steel chef” and comfortable kitchen from Munster to Crown Point and beyond. This place proves that: Suburban doesn’t have to mean safe. Elevated doesn’t have to mean pretentious. And tavern food can, in the right hands, reach the level of something worth talking about. Consider this your notice, Northwest Indiana: Lincoln & Wicker has entered the scene not merely to participate, but to compete — and perhaps to lead. It’s a restaurant with hunger, vision, and the audacity to execute dishes with real identity. It demands the chefs around it wake up, step up, or step aside. The Verdict Lincoln & Wicker is a rare suburban restaurant that looks good, cooks boldly, and has the potential to redefine what diners expect from Northwest Indiana. It isn’t perfect — not yet — but its ambition is unmistakable, and its successes are undeniable. This is a restaurant to watch. More importantly, it’s a restaurant to return to.